Stutter
by Loco the Exclaimer
Summary: Beachcomber often goes to visit the injured patients in the medbay, and on one such visit, meets a very interesting red mech by the name of Ironhide. Pre-Earth; Ironhide x Beachcomber, oneshot.


_100 Focuses / 001. Introduction_

X.x.X.x.X

Beachcomber was perhaps the gentlest soldier the Autobots had. Not one of the strongest soldiers or more talented fighters, he often made use of himself in other ways. Most times, he could be found around the Autobot base, cleaning or helping with the smaller, menial tasks not many Autobots even had time for.

On occassion, he would help out in the medbay. When he had the free time, he would sometimes come and visit the hurt mechs there, and though he bore nothing more than a friendly smile, his was always a welcome face.

It was one such morning that he walked in, humming softly to himself, and saw a large, hulking red mech, one that he hadn't seen before.

He walked over curiously. The mech turned to look at him with equal interest. The scars and fatigue of war were clear on his face; he had probably seen this medbay many, many times before. Beachcomber wondered how they hadn't crossed paths.

"H-hello," he greeted with a smile. "I h-haven't seen y-you around."

"Sump'm wrong with yer voice?" The much larger mech asked. He had a heavy accent Beachcomber couldn't quite place.

"It's al-always b-b-been th-that way." Beachcomber answered. His stutter always got a little worse when someone called attention to it. He pulled up a chair and sat down by the berth, now giving this mech a proper lookover. He was huge, at least three times Beachcomber's own size, with a build somewhat similar to Ratchet's. Chances are, he had a van or something like it for an alt.

"Really?" The red mech asked, gaining a look of interest. "Y' should get that looked at."

"It c-can't be f-f-fixed." Beachcomber answered awkwardly. "It's j-just a st-stutter."

"Huh. Ain't never met a mech like that." The larger mech said thoughtfully, looking at Beachcomber's mouth and throat as though doing so would unlock the key to the blue mech's speech impediment.

"M-most p-p-p-people h-h-haven-en't." Beachcomber replied, still looking awkward. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the conversation's current direction. "M-my v-v-vocal pr-pr-"

Here he stopped, frustrated, to compose himself. The other mech waited patiently and quietly while he did so; unusual. Most people were too impatient to listen to Beachcomber, and they would often interrupt him while he spoke. Finally, he tried again.

"My v-vocal pr-pr-_processor_ is glitched." He spat out finally.

"Ah see. Interestin'." Apparently sensing Beachcomber's discomfort, the larger mech offered his hand. "Name's Ironhide. Yers?"

"B-B-Beachcomber." He took Ironhide's hand gratefully and shook it. It was large just like the rest of him, engulfing Beachcomber's own almost feminine little hand; it was rough like the rest of him too.

"Nice t' meet ya, Beachcomber." Ironhide smiled warmly. Beachcomber returned the smile softly.

"S-so what are-re y-you in for?" The smaller mech inquired, gesturing at the medical equipment surrounding them. A big, powerful-looking mech like that probably got injured fighting Decepticon soldiers, he figured. A moment later, this thought was confirmed as fact.

"Fightin' 'cons." Ironhide explained. "It was fifteen against one, which means they pr'vided a decent challenge!"

"F-fifteen?" Beachcomber echoed. This mech was a hell of a fighter, then - if he wasn't exaggurating, which he probably was. Either way, he looked like he'd seen his share of fierce battles in his time.

"Fifteen." Ironhide smirked and shrugged, winced as he aggrivated his shoulder, and laid still. He was definitely exaggurating.

"Y-you're a st-stran-ange mech, I-Ironhide." Beachcomber stuttered, amused. The larger mech chuckled, this time a bit more careful not to move his injured spots.

"Naw. Ah'm probably the most normal mech in this base. Keepin' yer head is a rare trait around here, y'know that?" He waved a hand with a chuckle. "By th' way, what do you do?"

"What d-do you m-m-mean?" The blue mech tilted his head to one side curiously.

"Yer function, kid." Ironhide clarified. "What y' do for the Autobots."

"I'm n-not a k-kid." Beachcomber said, almost poutily. "And I-I'm a geologist."

"So what're y' doin' in th' medbay, then?" The older mech continued, giving Beachcomber a quizzical look. It looked rather out of place on the worn gray faceplate.

"I v-visit the patients from t-time to time." As it tended to do when he was calm or comfortable, Beachcomber's stutter faded slightly, leaving his speech almost normal. "Th-they appreciate the c-company."

"Really? That's sweet of you. Y' seem like a really sweet guy."

"Th-thank you." Beachcomber's faceplate heated up faintly, barely noticably; he dipped his head to hide it. "You t-too."

Ironhide smiled warmly. That looked more at home on that faceplate; as war-torn as it was, that faceplate looked kind and gentle, like he was a great friend to anyone who earned it. "Thanks for visitin' me, Beachcomber. I appreciated it."

"It was my pl-pleasure." Beachcomber answered softly. "M-maybe we c-c-could t-talk some m-more l-later?"

"Ah'd like that."

Beachcomber smiled, and started to speak again, but his attention was distracted when another mech called out to him. With a sheepish, almost "duty calls", smile at Ironhide, Beachcomber left to continue making his rounds.

He did make a mental note to visit Ironhide more often, though.


End file.
